"Mr Potter?" A proud voice came from outside the door of Harry's Auror office, and Harry barely had time to look up before a hand twisted the door knob, and a sharp-suited man appeared in the doorway. Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose, put his raven-feather quill down, and sniffed once. He assessed the man in front of him; parted, ice-blond hair, intimidating grey eyes, and an under-fed figure. The black suit fell a little loose around the man's waist, and he kept pulling it up with the hand that wasn't grasping a folder full of paperwork. An oak wand was sticking out of a blazer pocket, and threatening to fall out at any second.
"Ah," Harry's mouth formed an amused smile, "still being formal, Draco?"
"You're still hiring me," Draco muttered bitterly, "so I have to be."
"How very Slytherin of you," Harry concluded, sitting up a little straighter.
Draco rolled his eyes, and slammed the folder down on the dark-wood desk. "From Shacklebolt, Mister Potter." He hesitated, "about the Longbottom case."
"Ah," Harry pursed his lips and snatched the folder into his lap, "you didn't have to do that so quickly, Draco."
Draco winced, "please, sir, stop calling me that."
"Fine," Harry said sarcastically, "what shall it be? Mister Malfoy? Just Malfoy? Or do you want a nickname? How about Blondie?"
"Never mind," Draco frowned, "I just thought you'd want them as soon as possible, and I was on my way up from the mess hall, and I saw Shacklebolt's Personal Assistant. She was most compliant."
"Did you hex her, or did you fuck her?" Harry raised a lazy eyebrow, and clicked his knuckles.
"Neither, I just told her that I liked her hair how it was, and asked her to help me whilst she was still flustered." Draco looked at Harry uneasily, "maybe you should try it; it seems you're having no luck with the ladies."
As Draco turned to leave, Harry called out, "I don't always want ladies, Draco."